


Say Something

by KneelB4mEyouMewlingQUIM



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angels, Angst, Arguments, Coffee, Death, Demons, F/M, Fluff, Older Man/Younger Women, Slow Build, i don't know how to tag, oc is sunshine, rating might go up later, wesley dies, wesley is grumpy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:27:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4294206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KneelB4mEyouMewlingQUIM/pseuds/KneelB4mEyouMewlingQUIM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Wesley and little Ms. Tibbs grow to know each other by one common denominator: coffee. She makes it and he drinks it. Little does she know that she is actually teasing a mobster's right hand man on a daily basis. When he is killed, she comes home to an interesting surprise that she did not sign up for. Not that the surprise is all that bad...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Early Morning and Names

**Author's Note:**

> I am Wesley trash writing this for a friend of mine. The Oc is based off of her :) I hope you enjoy and please tell me what you think!!

Safe havens are difficult to find. A cool morning breeze slithered over my skin, raising bumps along my arms and legs. To anyone awake at this hour, they would have noticed an expanding glow stretching over the horizon, moving to cover the entire sky as it awoke, but nothing more than that; another day. To me, however, I was in my own small heaven, which I had carefully constructed. However, before long, it was disturbed by the disheartening sound of my alarm. I groaned, swiping a lazy hand through my short hair; likely making it stand on end.

 

Monday.

 

I went to fling my legs over the side of my bed, only to find that only one would move, leaving me in a rather tangled mess. A sigh escaped my mouth; I flung my numb limb out with its counterpart. With a great amount of ungraceful hobbling, I made it to the washroom. While I was no vain individual, I did enjoy staring at myself. Well, more specifically, I enjoyed sizing myself up. I was a tad too tall for my liking, standing at 5’9 ½ and my skin was not perfect at all-perhaps a bit too pale and one too many scars. My knees were a bit knobby and I always seemed to have a smudge of something under my right eye. I smiled. I always did. Maybe I was a bit more of a moth than a butterfly, but I had warmth in my chest that never left- I was happy, and that was that.

 

When surviving in New York, one needs to have some means of happiness, mine was my adorable flat in the middle of the concrete jungle, and the small café I worked at full time - Bowery Coffee. Of course, I wanted more, but what I had was perfect. I found happiness in making the day brighter for my customers; in greeting my usuals and new faces; in purchasing fresh milk from an independent grocer each morning. I found happiness in the hope that I changed people’s day for the better.

 

* * *

 

 

Once my tea hit my tongue and I could feel it running down the back of my throat, I knew today would be good. Call me strange, optimistic, perhaps naïve, but I barely believed in bad ones. I didn’t care that the peppermint fluid I had brewed was just a bit too hot. With a grin on my lips, I set to buttoning up my white shirt and straightened it’s collar before tying my pink bowtie. I plucked my toast from it’s plate and took a bite. Finally slipping on my black, fitted pants, I grabbed my black pumps and purse and ran out the door. Having almost tripped into my shoes on my way down the stairs, I had to stop for a moment to adjust them outside. To my displeasure, it was sunny out and already beginning to heat up. I was not a fan of the sun or the heat.

 

While searching for shade on my way to work, I murmured my small street routine in my head. _Over the gap in the sidewalk, under the slightly too low restaurant sign, stop and wait to cross the street, cross the street. Stop once again and-_ “Andrew, Pierce darlings, how are you both today?”

The small old man I had grown to adore looked up at me with a grin he wore when he saw me; it made his lines so much more pronounced. Pierce came over to me and nuzzled my legs; he was a beautiful German shepherd with calm blue eyes.

“We’re doing just fine today Miss Tibbs. We’s even got ourselves five dollars already!”

“But it’s only 4:40! Andrew,” I squinted, “Who did you charm so early?”

“I swear I didn’t do nothin’! He was a good lookin’ man, sharp dressed an’ all. Was here not 5 minutes before yourself.” He explained.

I tilted my head to the side; perhaps there was some good in the upper class after all. “Well be sure to get yourself something good, yes?”

“As always Miss Tibbs.” He would never let me give him money, that how I first started speaking with him. I went to place a ten in his hand-years ago- but he simply would not take it. Something about how I would need it more than he did. People were strange.

 

When I was only a half of a block from the café, I took off my heels, deciding to run the rest of the way. Upon arrival, my key would not get in fast enough, as I realized that it was already 4:55. My state of hurry rested with my consistent and persistent Mr. 6 O’Clock. He came in every morning for the past three years, never being late or unprofessional, unlike Mr. Quarterpast. Mr. Quarterpast was often Mr. Halfpast or Mr. No-show. I smiled at the thought of both of my regulars as I fastened my apron around my small waist; but the expression did not stay long when a flash of Mr. 6 O’Clock’s scolding glare came to mind. I set right to work, mixing the dough for the croissants, bars and, of course, cookies. Once I set them on their trays with a sigh of relief that I was still on time, I popped out to get some fresh milk and cream from the barely open market.

 

Upon finally getting back, it was 5:50. Without even thinking of it, I set a record on the gramophone, allowing myself to sway and clam down. I had plenty of time-

_Ding!_

The oven alerted me of the buttery smell I had barely noticed upon reentering; the treats were done! I sighed when the warmth of the oven met my cheeks. Is this was heaven smells like? I thought idly to myself. Grasping the pan, I turned to place it on the counter so I may place them in their display case.

“Do be careful.”

I stopped dead and all but dropped my tray on the counter, eyes wide.

“Wouldn’t want to destroy those beautiful sweets, after all.” Tall, professional, faultless; he stood not two feet in front of the counter.

I swallowed, but regardless, a grateful smile rested on my face, “Thank you, sir, I do believe I should be. More careful that is.”

As discreetly as I could, I checked the clock. Sure enough, it was 6 o' clock on the button, and here he stood, the same dapper, scolding, polite yet charming man as always, Mr. 6 O’Clock. A small smirk stretched his lips in a way that I was so used to, and found oddly handsome. Well, he was a handsome man who so happened to wear a smirk like he does a Windsor tie. I found him to be a strange man, though. Often commenting on how I should be more careful when ‘carelessly’ leaving the café, if even for a moment. He also made small remarks about how I should pay attention, and not trust so many people… and then there were the times where he told me that being late was also rude. But even so, I still hoped that I made his day a bit better.

 

“The usual double-shot espresso to-go?”

“Please.”

“So tell me, sir, what is it you do? As a profession.” I asked, making simple conversation as I always did, while I made his coffee.

He seemed deep in thought before he finally responded, “I am a personal assistant to a very powerful man.” I thought I imagined it, but I thought I saw him grin.

“Really?” I asked excitedly, “What’s that like? I imagine it would either be fascinating or very tedious. Which is it?”

“I would have to say it is somewhere in between the two, Ms. Tibbs.” He admitted to me. I giggled.

“I take it he doesn’t drink coffee? Or is mine so bad that you have to get his somewhere else and you have to settle for mine?” I poked playfully. He looked at me, rather that at what I was doing. Again, he was in thought for a moment. I had finished his usual espresso and waited at the counter with it. I supposed that he came to terms with the fact that he needed the extra shot many years ago.

“Quite the opposite, Ms. Tibbs.”

His voice snapped me out of my own thoughts, it took me a moment to realize what he was talking about. I blushed, flattered that he thought so highly of something I made.

“Thank you,” He grasped his drink and turned, “Always a pleasure, Ms. Tibbs-”

“-Conner.”

He paused questioningly and raised his left eyebrow.

“My name, it’s Conner Tibbs.”

In response, I received a single curt nod and just a hint of a smirk. I watched as he turned to leave once more, only to stop. He pulled out a card from his breast pocket and slid it onto the counter without a word before he officially left. I waited until the door closed before I picked it up. In beautiful scripture, it read a name, J. Wesley. _Wesley_ , it suited him, I decided. I looked around self-consciously, as if to see if anyone had seen me looking at the card.

Little did I know that there was indeed someone watching. He wore a beautiful smirk, an immaculate pocket square, a pristine suit, with one foot in a black SUV and a double-shot espresso to-go in hand.


	2. Late to Chaos

It is universally known that when something extraordinary happens, it remains at the forefront of our minds. When I awoke the next morning, I found that my mind was still as occupied by a certain man as it was yesterday. It had made me smile at the oddest times. Even in my current sleepy state –or maybe it was because of my sleepy state- I grinned like a fool.

While I was having a fantastic time parading around my flat belting out Nina Simone, I had failed to notice how the time was ticking faster than I was moving. So needless to say, it was nearly comical to see an embodiment on a twig (aka me) flying down the stairwell while swearing at myself. Over all, the morning was passing in a blur and I was not catching up with it. My mind was not entirely clear. I had managed to smack my head on the oven door, almost making me see stars. Injuries and all, I would not be late in making a 6 o'clock double-shot-espresso-to-go. I found my movements slowing down while making said drink; _why did he give me his name? I gave him mine, but I had given him many facts about myself in the past, which he never reciprocated. Why now?_

 _J. Wesley_. I rolled his name over in my head, wondering what J was for… _Jacob, John, Jonathon, Jack, Jared Ja-_ "AHH!” I yelped. While my head was in the clouds, I scalded my hand on the hot coffee. It was 5:55. I quickly ran my hand under cold water, I hissed. With my glowing hand I finished up with the double-shot espresso, and waited patiently with the cup between my hands. He was a handsome man. Polite, terrifying, tall, thick dark hair...that voice. I shook my head to rid myself of those thoughts. What was wrong with me?

I looked back the clock; five minutes had passed. I let out an almost content sigh.

“Am I late?”

I spun back around, eyes wide. There he was, leaning against the doorway, jacket unbuttoned with one hand in his pant pocket; regal, at ease, dominating.

“Good morning, Ms. Conner. Apologies for, ah,” He let out a small chuckle, "Scaring you, it was not my intention.”

I smiled at his comment. “Of course not, sir. I have your usual, ready for you this morning.” I gestured to his drink, moving my hands away.

“Thank you.” Wesley grasped the cup, and went to walk away, but I suppose my pink hand caught his eye, “What happened here?” he pointed to my limb. Not wanting to tell him that I was thinking about him and subsequently burnt my hand because of it, I just settled for telling him that my head was in the clouds and that I hadn't been looking. Apparently satisfied, he hummed out,"Ms. Conner, have a good day. And perhaps pay more attention, hmm?” and waltzed out of the café before I could say “Thank you.” 

I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding in. This man was dangerous, in more ways than one -he made me forget how to breathe, talk and even walk sometimes; he was going to kill me one day and I was going to come back and haunt him.

The strong smell of chocolate reminded me of the goodies awaiting my distracted attention. I quickly set myself back to work, and I stayed that way until I went home.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“ **CHAOS AT FISK FUNDRAISER** ”

" **MASS PANIC AT FISK FUNDRAISER** "

 

No matter where I looked, there was the same headline riddling the news like a festering rash. The one time I actually used cable, and it was almost scarring for me. I flicked my way through the channels, growing more and more distressed when I could not escape the photos and clips of dying people in my city. I found that no matter how hard I pressed the button to go next, the outcome would be the same: chaos. I felt horrid, sick even. Those poor people thought all was fine and dandy, then the next thing they knew was that they were on the way to an ER, if they were lucky to survive that long. Poison, they were saying in some places, but nothing more. They did not specify if it was _food_ poisoning, or _mass murder_ poisoning.

Giving up, I sighed and threw the remote to the other end of the couch. In an attempt to comfort myself, I brought my knees up to reset under my chin. I had seen that man's name before, in the news paper "FISK" in bold letters, but that was about it. I felt horrible for him... My eyes grew red and stung from the tears that would not fall. I never cried, it always startled my parents; I still don't cry, I don't think I even know how. Sometime in the night, I must have fallen asleep; the next thing I knew, I was bolting straight up in a cold sweat on my couch. My chest was heaving and I felt as though I was shot through the heart and lungs. Trying to calm myself, I got up and flung my window open, it helped a bit, though my heart was still racing. I slapped my cheeks a few times to get some sense back into myself. Finally regaining sense, I went to my bed and tried to sleep there, only to find that everything felt off. I curled in on myself to find comfort, but my brow was still scrunched in terror. Something was so wrong, something had happened, something terrible.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Wednesday.

I stood at the counter at 5:50 with a double-shot espresso between my hands. Seeing as sleep was an issue, I was a bit early today. As the seconds passed, I grew a bit anxious; I tapped my fingers on the cup, but it only served to bother me. Rather than standing there like a nervous idiot, I set myself to work, reluctantly. I felt that I may start to think of the incident last night, but I forced myself to walk away from the coffee that served almost as an anchor. A cool breeze from the open door swept around me, eliciting an small shiver. _Perhaps I could get everything done before Mr. Wesley got here; he would be impressed and I could ask him about what happened at Mr. Fisk's fundraiser. Surly he would know, after all, he was in business and likely knew more than most._ With that in mind, I quickened my pace but made sure that my small hands weren’t clumsy. I was just putting the last brownie in its basket, when I heard the door open behind me. I dusted my hands off on my apron.

“Good morning, sir. I have your coffee already for you- Oh.” The man before me was not at all my Mister 6 o’clock; it was Mr. Quarterpast: Mr. Foggy Nelson. I looked at the clock behind me; indeed, it was 6:15. My stomach dropped.

_Three years._

In three years, Mr. Wesley had never once been even the slightest bit late, let alone not shown up. A surge of fear shot through my body when a thought hit me. He said he was the right hand man of a powerful man; _what if he was there last night- at the fundraiser? What if he’s hurt, lying in a hospital bed? What if he’s-_

“Cnnr?...Connr?...Conner?? Yoohoo?”

Foggy’s voice slowly morphed into my ears, I must have zoned out and my distress must have shown on my face. I tried to brush my terror off with a polite smile. “I do apologize, Mr. Nelson, I thought you were another dedicated customer. I'll fix your coffee in a jiffy.”

Foggy smiled at me a bit; he seemed off as well. “Not a problem C. But I must ask you something; are you cheating on me? Who could this man be that you were expecting him so excitedly? I do find it hard to believe that you could, what with my good looks and charming personality.”

I snorted, “I wouldn’t dream of it Mr. Nelson. You are the only coffee man for me." The steam from his black coffee hit my face, making my cheeks pink, “Here you are. I hope it is to your satisfaction.” I said enthusiastically. Foggy took a sip and moaned. I guess it was one of those days that I made a good cup and he desperately needed it.

The rest of the day passed slowly as well. I found myself looking for beautiful Windsor ties and pocket squares, but alas it seemed that I had to throw out the double shot espresso that I had kept off to the side all day…just in case.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Thursday.

 

I looked hopelessly at the side of the counter; there was another cup unclaimed by Mr. Windor-tie. I groaned and slapped my head on the surface. All I could hear were sirens and horns, they were distant, but they seemed to ring in my ears. I pulled myself from my slouched position and locked the door, flipping the sign to “Closed” while I was at it.

On my way home, a cool breeze swept up under my skirt, prickling my legs and sending a shiver down my spine. Again, something felt wrong. This was a different type of wrong though, it was the kind where it felt like you are being followed, stared at or groped. It was uncomfortable and invasive. I looked around, but couldn’t see any one. Just as I was about to turn back, a loud clang sounded from one of the ally’s behind me. Against better judgment, I froze. I heard a voice swear in...Russian. My blood ran cold. Russian? If it was one of the men from the Russian underground, I had to get out of there- fast. I had heard about what they were a part of, nothing specific, but they meant trouble. I barley found my footing and tried to walk as fast as I could, but I was too late.

“Hey, you! Girly! Heh, I bet you could use those long legs for things better than walking away from me!” He shouted, "Want to wrap them around me, huh? I could show you a good time, yes?" He was intoxicated, very intoxicated. I didn’t turn around, but I could hear his uneven footsteps getting closer. I could almost feel his breath on my neck. My heart was beating so loud I could feel it in my ears and mouth. I thought I was going to puke or pass out, maybe both. When suddenly, he was gone. I stopped mid-step. Slowly, I turned around, not knowing what I would see or not see. What I did see was a street in the dwindling sunlight, but nothing more. I don’t know what would have scared me more; the drunk Russian there or gone…but as I looked around me, he had just disappeared.

Feeling more than uneasy, I removed my heels and ran the rest of the way home. By the time I had gotten the four blocks and run up the five flights of stairs to my flat, my lungs burned. I wrenched my door open and slammed it shut as fast as I could, falling back on it, trying to catch my breath, and calm my nerves. I closed my eyes and almost laughed at myself, what had happened? Was it my spinning, tired head getting to me? I started counting down from 20 in my head in hopes that it may right myself.

_20_

_19_

_18_

_17_

_16_

_15_

_14_

_13_

_12_

_11_

_10_

_9_

_8_

_7_

_6_

_5_

_4_

_3_

_2-_

“I suppose this is a bad time to say good evening."

My blood froze in my veins. I knew that voice. I missed that voice, as much as I did not want to admit it. I slowly opened my eyes; the last I saw before I lost consciousness were glasses, a pocket square, and a perfect suit. Cold air enveloped me, and I saw black.


	3. Walls Can't Keep You Safe From Me

Silence is supposed to comforting; the dull drown of your own thoughts being the only thing to fill it. In some circumstances, it can be a rejuvenation; in others,it is the single most unnerving thing on Earth.

 

I gasped for air, but it felt like cement in my lungs. The only sounds I could hear were the beating of my own heart and the traffic in the streets. I began to believe I had imagined what had happened -whatever it was that had happened. Upon looking down at myself, I found that I was in the exact same position as I had been when I had gotten home. Then I felt a chill creep into my bones, and I filled with dread.

 

"Ahem..."

I scrambled to get to my feet, which was not entirely easy. Faster than I should have, I whipped my head around. But there was nothing, only silence. Breathing became a difficult task, but I continued to look around frantically. This went on for a few moments before I saw what looked to be a man materialize out of thin air, to be sitting in my favourite chair. But I knew that face so well that I had no doubt in my mind who it was.

Mr. 6 O'Clock, Mr. Double-Shot Espresso To-Go...

 

_Mr. J. Wesley._

 

In that instant, I wasn't entirely sure if I should laugh, smile, scream or run. In truth I felt like I should do all. He sat so casually in my flat as though he had done it countless times before. Legs crossed, hands neatly folded in his lap, jacket undone. I would have to say another unnerving thing would be how he was so...clean- unearthly so. Yes, he was consistently immaculate, but this frightened me. Regardless, he looked just as passive as ever, almost bored. Everything about him had me on edge, it didn’t help that a Russian almost had me in his drunken clutches not two hours ago. He didn’t have his Windsor tie either and the top two buttons two his crisp white shirt were undone. If I am to be completely and brutally honest…he looked sinful.

“M-Mr. Wesley, can-can I help you?” I managed to squeak out.

“Help?” He chuckled- a dangerous sound I decided- “No, no. No one living could help me.” It appears that he left it at that, as he settled for staring at me dead in the eye.

I wheezed out a breath. “W-" I cleared my throat when it tried to close up, “Where have you been? I…” _What? I was worried about you?_ “Were you at the fundraiser?”

“Which do you wish for me to actually answer?” He asked me. I thought for a moment.

“The former.”

In response, he hummed- another treacherous sound, "Where have I been? Well this is a peculiar question, Conner. On one hand, I have been laying in a cold warehouse for the past day bleeding out until my body had no more blood to loose." He replied, as though he were talking about the weather. I stared, my eye hurt from not blinking, and he went on, “On the other hand, I have been…taking care of some things, and not entirely, hmm, how should I put this, I have been otherwise indisposed by circumstances that have lead me to new paths of being.”

 

If he thought for one minute that my foggy, rattled head was going to comprehend that statement, he was so poorly mistaken. Again, I just stared with a crease between my brows, “ Wh-what are you saying?” I managed to ask.

"My dear Ms.Tibbs, you are so naïve and simple minded sometimes.” That stung. He stood, reminding me of his remarkable height, and ran a long finger along my kitchen counter, stalking towards me. I couldn’t move, “I have been many places on this godforsaken planet. And now I have been somewhere everyone goes to eventually. My timing was just a bit …sooner, rather than later.” His eyes snapped to mine

I felt cold. While my brain could not comprehend everything he told me, it could make sense of one thing. “Mr. Wesley, sir,” I whispered, “Are- are you a ghost?”

“Oh Conner, I am so…so much more. But in layman’s terms, yes.” When I continued to stare, he went on,"Ms. Tibbs, would you be so kind as to let me reside here?"

 

Quite undignified to him, I slowly moved my hand up to his chest. He raised his left brow in question. I flattened my palm and pushed down, only to meet nothing; my small hand went right through his chest. I could actually see it inside of him. At that point, I fell to my knees.

 

"Are you satisfied?" He asked me.

I looked up at him as he came to stand not a foot in front of me. My mouth fell open. He sighed.

 

* * *

 

 

_Bee-beep bee-beep bee-beep bee-beep bee-beep bee-beep bee-beep bee-beep_

 

"Oh for all that is good, please shut that thing _OFF!!!_ "

After coming to terms with the fact that I must be going mad, I had taken refuge in my bedroom. From my current position of being curled up in the corner, shaking and hypersensitive, I threw another tissue box at my closed bedroom door with my eyes wide. I very slowly inched to my clock, not tacking my eyes off the door, and shut the machine off all the same.

-Wesley was sat on her couch, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. A part of him found it rather endearing –how scared and uncertain she was- but most bothersome.-

 

I heard him move around on the other side of the door for a few minutes. It sounded like he was in the…kitchen? "This door is very useless, I hope you realize that." Came his muffled voice, to emphasize his point he stuck his arm through it with a cup of tea, which he placed on the floor. His arm promptly disappeared. I gazed down at the cup warily, "What do you want? If you're looking to possess my body I should tell you now that I'm no fun! I have uh..."I looked around for help to make myself less appealing, "uh...foot fungus-"

"No you don't."

"I'm married! You would have to deal with a man’s UNDYING affection for you!!"

"No you're not."

"I have herpes!"

"I do hope not."

"Uh um...I have a terrible wardrobe. You would go crazy-"

"Well you're not wrong on that point."

I squinted my eyes, pursed my lips and bolted out the door. I uncoordinatedly looked for him. He was standing against one of the posts in my flat. I went to poke him in the chest but my hand fell right through, so I settled for speaking up at him, trying to ignore the tingling in my hand.

"Excuse me? I dress amazingly well! How could you say that?”

A stupidly attractive smirk played on his lips as he looked down at me, amused. There goes that damn eyebrow again...

"How could I? Well...it worked to get you out of your room, didn't it?"

I opened my mouth in hopes that a smart retort would magically come out, but there was only air. Wesley looked at me as though expecting me to spew the most interesting fact in the world. I scowled at him.

"Well if you aren't going to possess me?" He gave me a nod, I looked at his faultless face, contemplating, “ I- I guess you can stay here.”

I didn’t expect anything major in terms of thanks, but what I did get was a little more that what I had in mind. For the next twelve seconds, Mr. Wesley gazed at me intently, a strange spark sat in his eyes. After what seemed like a year, he bowed his head and placed a hand upon his chest. "Well, that took longer than I thought, but you have my thanks."

 

 

* * *

 

 

With the slight delay I had, I skipped my shower and ate my toast in the bathroom where I got ready. Sadly, in my rush, I slightly forgot about my personal poltergeist and walked into my kitchen in only my half buttoned shirt and blue panties. I was only aware that he saw when I twirled around at the sound of a cough, and saw him look away quickly- the tiniest of wolfish grins forming. He got a dishtowel to the face for that. It made no difference and I felt a bit bad, but I wouldn’t let him know that.

 

“Bye, Mr. Wesley. Don’t scare my neighbours please!” He raised an incredulous eyebrow as if to say, “Do you really think I would be that childish?” I gave him a two-finger salute and all but flew down the stairs; it was already 5:15. I was in such a daze to get to work that I slowed to a stop, ironically.

“You alrigh’ Ms. Tibbs?” It was Andrew, I must have zoned out completely.

“Huh? Yes, sorry love, my head is in the clouds today! How are you two?” I thought it best to leave out my new house guest -real or not. I bent down to pet Pierce’s soft fur; he came closer. Softy.

“Not too well actually, Ms. Tibbs. Yesterday wasn’t so good so we had’da hold off on dinner. Bu’ maybe today will be better, right?” Came his reply. My smile dropped; he was such a kind old man, he didn’t deserve to beg on the streets. I opened my purse, there wasn’t much in there for myself, but I pulled out two twenty’s and hushed him before he could protest. “It’s on me, love. Go get whatever you want, just make sure it’s delicious.”

Tears began to redden his eyes, but I left before he could convince me I needed it more than he did. Once again, I had a smile on my face, which subsequently made me smile even more. In fact, I almost missed the café’s doors I was smiling so much.

What a strange Friday.

I tied my apron a little slower, too deep in thought to register anything else. Before I began baking, I put on a swing record, producing an extra bounce to my step. Before long, I was no longer bouncing- I was completely dancing. I removed my heels so that I might work faster, and I nearly broke into a sweat when I saw the time was 5:55. In fact, I very nearly burned my hand, pouring the double-shot-espresso to go. Then I stopped dead in my tracks. I didn’t have to be so punctual all the time. I didn’t have a Mr. 6 O'Clock anymore; just an unpunctual Mr. Quarterpast and the bustle of customers that varied from day to day. Staring down at the black liquid, I did not register the clock striking 6 am. I was going to miss that suave man coming in every morning, and I was going to miss the little friendly banters we had…

 

“You really should pay more attention.” I gasped. _He's here too??_  Speak of the devil and he shall appear. How had he gotten here? Did he…

“Did you follow me?” I asked him after a moment. I thanked any gods above that no one else was in the café, seeing as I was quite sure that I was talking to myself. 

Rather than answering promptly, he cocked his head just a bit. Then said,

“I grew rather bored, it was quite dull in your apartment. So I found my way to be in your wake.”

I found myself staring at him hard. _What do I say to that? Creepy ghost man following me?? Could be worse I suppose..._

_...My flat is not dull!!_

“So…are you just going to hover over my shoulder and point out my mistakes? Or are you going to go do…ghosty things?” I stood there, hiding my shaking hands behind the counter. As the words left my mouth, terror and doubt began to set back in. I _t wasn't just me being a bit rattled at home...he's here too. Perhaps I have gone mad_...

“I assure you that I only say those things to make you improve yourself.”

Terror’s gone. I narrowed my eyes, I went to snap at him but I was interrupted.

“-And yes, I do believe I will stay here.”

I did miss our small interactions…but now?

 

…Now I was permanently stuck with this devil of a man.


	4. Unappreciated Chaos

_Bee-beep bee-beep bee-beep bee-beep- thud_

"Mmmmm..."

I let out a remarkable yawn and wiped a palm across my face. What day was it? The days mashed together and their names mixed until Tuesday became Tuesatriday. I thought harder and rubbed my my eyes in hopes that it would aid me. It did actually help. "Sunday!Yay!!" I groaned in rejoice. This Sunday marked the last Sunday I would have to work; store hours were switching to fall hours from summer. This meant that I would have more time to entertain my permanent guest. I wa not completely convinced that I was not hallucinating him, but I figured that even if it was just my mind going, I had might as well have a good time.

 

Slow as I could, I sat up, eyes closed and a silly grin on my face. When I opened my eyes, however, I was greeted with a sight I was not expecting in the least and my expression fell.

"Good morning. Is the Queen coming?"

I found myself trying to disappear into my pillows to escape to all-seeing gaze of Mr. Wesley. 

"Wes?Why are you -Wait, what?"

I leaped out of my bed, again forgetting what I was in only a shirt and candy pink panties, and began to flick through my closet, my heart beating at the rude awakening. "No! This is New York, why would she come here? I mean she can come here, not that I think she would but that doesn't mean she wouldn't though I don't know what sort of welcoming she would get here. I'm not even from here so I can't say! I'm just a little Canadian with a bit of money I don't like poutine by the way but pancakes are my weakness, but I have to make them special because I'm a vegan, you know?? I can't just get them from anywhere. Do you know how hard that is...wait...huh?" I stopped and turned to him, completely dumbfounded, "Why did you ask if the Queen was coming?"

He looked thoroughly amused at my babbling, "Because you look astonishing in the morning." Wesley told me matter-of-factly.

"I-I do?" I asked, rubbing my cheek.

"Yes. I quite enjoy the hair on your left side that is completely flattened to your head and the crusty eyes along with the pink hand print on your cheek." He dead panned, with that, he vanished into thin air. It made me so uneasy when he did that.

"Someone's cabby..." I mumbled rather dejectedly after being scrutinized in my own bed and so early, but another idea popped into my head, " or maybe..."

"You're not a morning person, are you?" I asked him. I stepped out of my room, squinting, and crossed my arms.

"Did you figure that out all on your own?" He retorted, appearing a few feet in front of me, left brow raised. I turned a bit red and scrunched up my eyebrows and looked at my toes. What was wrong with me? I dealt with all sorts of people in a day, why did he get under my skin so often?

"I don't understand something though. I have seen you every morning for the past two years. You never have your panties in a twist this bad. Is it the lack of coffee?" I giggled.

His face remained stoic. I mirrored him and crossed my arms; I swear I felt much more imposing than I looked in my oversized shirt, lack of pants and thin limbs. We remained like that for a whole minute; a silent staring contest of blank faces.

"It's 5:29."

I was irked from my concentration when he made the single comment. To confirm his statement, I finally blinked and looked down at my watch. The following sight of me diving into my room was laughable. I, however, didn't see the dead man's head tilt to the side ever so slightly so he could just see me in my room. He sighed, nearly unimpressed and shook his head. I must have been such a spaz to him _. Why would he want to stay here??_

Like countless times before, I ran laps around my flat practically tripping over myself. Thinking better of eating, I forwent my breakfast and barely got my pants on before I was sprinting down the stairwell. I failed to see a man looking down after me as my lungs burned and my hand clutched the railing; he was just a cold breeze to anyone he walked by, no one saw him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Iced caramel macchiato and chocolate croissant to-go! Thank you!" I stared at my watch, counting the seconds as they passed. It seemed that sugary drink and treat were the last thing to leave the café. It did not even register the streets beginning to darken and how my straight posture was drooping. Time to close up. Much to my surprise, there were still a number of the non-dairy or egg croissants left; I chose to grab a couple of them to keep for later. Maybe Wes- _oh. No, Mr. Wesley couldn’t share them with me_. It hurt a bit to think of that. I smiled bitter sweetly, thinking of what his favourite food might have been, and whether he would have liked my baking or not. The more I thought about it, the easier it was to see him sitting in his office, coffee to his right, expensive computer in front, door closed and a beautiful cupcake hidden until he could sit back and enjoy it. The image alone had me giggling on my way home; a silly smile plastered itself on my face. It was official; Wesley defiantly had a secret love and admiration for fine, sweet baking.

When I was barely halfway home, I felt a drop of cold fall into my short hair. When I reached up to feel it, my question was answered before my hand got there. Two other drops fell onto my finger and nose: it was starting to rain. Before long, there was a full downpour sheeting down on the street. Rather than avoiding one of the first rains in forever, I removed my shoes and jumped into the currently quiet street, running through puddles and dancing in the rain. The cold water slipped between my toes and ran down my cheeks, my eyes lit up. I spun around and began to laugh.

"I'm singin' in the rain,

Just singing in the rain,

What a glorious feelin',

I'm happy again,

I'm laughing at clouds,

So dark up above,

The sun's in my heart,

And I'm ready for love," I spun around the ill-timed stop light I passed every morning.

"Let the stormy clouds chase,

Everyone from the place,

Come on with the rain,

I've a smile on my face,

I walk down the lane,

With a happy refrain,

Just singin',

Singin' in the rain." My high voice softened out as I approached my building's steps. Another giggle escaped me. The lights in the stairwell flickered a bit, I quickened my steps, not particularly wanting to be stuck in the pitch black.

"Hello? Anyone haunting?" I called out grinning. It was peacefully quiet inside my flat - just the patter of the rain outside. I shrugged my wet cardigan off, looking around for a head of thick black hair.

“W-Wesley?” I placed my croissants on the counter so they wouldn’t get soggy. After looking around for a moment and not seeing him, I ventured in a bit further- not that there was much farther to go. I hadn't turned any light on yet and smacked my hand against the post. Just when I was going to call his name out once more while rubbing my appendage, I saw a very familiar profile, standing and looking out through one of my large windows. I stopped cold, I didn’t want to disturb him by talking – he looked so…serene. I wish I could have taken a picture or perhaps drawn it, he looked like a painting. Instead, I simply walked up to his side and followed his gaze.

“It’s beautiful.”

I heard him murmur. I was not entirely sure whether he was speaking to himself or me, so I stayed quiet. Much to my surprise, he went on, “It is an unappreciated chaos. Is it not?” He turned his head to look at me curiously.

“It is.”

We stood like that for a moment or two, before I looked up at his passive face. Opting out of another staring contest with a ghost, I turned away and went to my room to put on some dry clothes and not catch hypothermia. Upon reentering the main portion of my flat, I found the same profile sitting at my two person dining table, book in hand and same controlled expression.

“You know it’s bad for your eyes if you read in little light.” I told him moving into the kitchen.

“I think you’ll find my eyes are perfectly fine.”

“Might I ask why you’re wearing glasses if your eyes are so perfect?”

The smallest flicker of a smile passed over his features, “Old habits _die hard_ , Conner.”

I went to turn on my kitchen light, only to have it flick off as soon as I did so. Again, I flicked the switch, but it only went back down. I frowned at it. I turned it on, and then held it, only to have it pressed down. Growing more and more frustrated, I turned to Wesley, sure enough, there was a small smirk resting on his lips.

“Wesley!”

“Hmm?” He hummed, barely looking up.

“I thought you were the prestigious right hand to a powerful businessman, and so I ask you; are you messing with the light??” I huffed.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He told me, not looking up at me. I turned around and flicked it again; it went off.

On.

Off

On…

 

 

Off.

ON.

Off.

ON!

Off.

ON!!

 

Off.

“Wesley will you stop it?” I cried.

“Hmm? Stop what? Your fight with a simple light switch?”

“You keep on turning it off!”

"I really don't think I am that big of a turn off, do you?"

I sighed and ignored his statement that made me blush. Exasperated, I marched to my junk cupboard and pulled out my headlamp. It may not be the single most useful light source, but it worked. That is, until it too turned off just as I pulled out a pot to cook some oatmeal. My shoulders sagged.

“You’re not a ghost, are you?” I practically whimpered, remembering what he had said when I first asked him when he was.  " _So much more"_ he had said.

“In a manner of speaking I am what you consider a ghost." I heard him sigh,"I am an echo of someone you knew…but like I have said, I am much more.” When I looked back at him, the book was down and he was facing me fully – legs crossed.

“So what are you then?” I retrieved candles from a cupboard and scattered them around the countertop before lighting them.

“Before I answer you, describe a ghost as one would expect it.” His question caught me by surprise; _how does one describe a ghost?_

I thought for a moment _._ “I think that they vary. Some may be cold, unfriendly presences and others may be welcoming. But over all I would say that they are mostly seen as simple figments of our imaginations. I also don’t think they try to draw attention to themselves." I knew I was rambling but I went on, "I believe in them, I always have…and as for the bad ones that are the protagonists in movies and books, I don't think they all start as bad. I think that as long as you're kind to them, they shan't bother you negatively" I murmured almost to myself.

Wesley chuckled, shaking his head, “Well, you see, what you just described was a ghost from the light…angels -they are benevolent beings. I, however, am the complete opposite. We are often seen as the phantom in your room that you can't see at night, or the pebble in your shoe. We are what lurks in the shadows as I did while I was living." In the candlelight, he looked all the more sinister and dangerous; I was beginning to see was he was talking about.

“So you’re a ghost from the darkness? You spoke of ghosts from the light being angels so...?” I left my unfinished question hanging in hopes that he would answer it. Instead, he regarded me, an amused look on his face. Then suddenly, he was right in front of my eyes, mere inches from me. His arms were caging my body to the counter, though I knew I could just walk through him -literally. But I could feel his energy, his ice-cold heat. Very slowly, Wesley leaned closer to me, so that his lips rested right near my ear, at which point I was practically hyperventilating. He then spoke, very simply, but it was enough to rattle my bones.

“I am a ghost from hell, Ms. Gibbs. A demon of evil." With that, Wesley brought the kitchen lights back on, thoroughly blinding my eyes. He vanished from before me, to reappear on the other side of the counter on a stool. I, on the other hand, was not so fast to move. Instead, I blinked more than a few unnecessary times and released a breath.

_What did I sign up for?_

 

 

The rest of the evening went quietly, neither of us spoke. I cooked, he watched. I ate, he watched. I sat on the couch and read (tried), he watched. Not that I minded; I couldn’t do anything about it anyway. After an hour of this, I grew rather tired of not having any privacy and having a demonic being not five feet away. I heaved a very loud sigh. Almost as though on cue, every light went off, including all electronics. I froze. My first reaction was to look at Wesley. He looked bored.

"Look at what you did.” He murmured.

“I didn’t do this!” I cried, becoming rather uneasy in the dark. Sooner rather than later, my breathing became a bit more laboured. I went to get up, but nearly fell back when I felt Wesley right in front of me.

"You're going to hurt yourself if you try to get through this maze without a light." He chastised my flat for its untidiness. In truth he was right. I thought I saw him half extend his hand to guide me, but he quickly brought it back to his side. He stood still for a moment then seemed to decide on something.

"Follow my voice."

I tilted my head to the side in question, but Wesley began to back away from me to where I knew my room was. At some points I could barely see him at all and I would panic, but he would reappear quickly in a small beam of light if only for a moment of reassurance. I followed him just like he said and didn't dare take my eyes off of him. I grasped my doorframe and sighed, something familiar.Almost as though he knew about my fear of the dark and my adoration for his voice, Wesley began to speak to me once more, “It's alright, all this is, is darkness; a different shade of the world. Don’t think about what or who might be there in the dark, know what is there. Know that you have safety somewhere. Recall every bit of your apartment and tell me.”

“W-What? Why?” _What good would that do?_ I reached my bed and sat down. Some light shone through my window, landing on the side of Wesley's face. He stood next to my dresser, across the room -looking so real and tangible.

“Just do it.”Came his quite gentle command.

I thought for a moment, nibbling my lip before answering, my flat was so quirky that I barely knew where to start. "W-well the door is a bit stiff when the weather is bad -like this. The kitchen is to my immediate right. It's a fair size, but a bit too cluttered...I never have any time to clean it. And the walls are warm tones that make me feel safer when I'm alone. Oh! And then there's that beam standing in the middle of everything," I began to smile,"I remember when I first moved in, I would always smack into it. I barely remember it's there now. I would have to say that the windows are one of my favourite parts of my flat, they keep me safe but show the city around me..."

I went on and on about every small detail I could remember. It was an odd request made, but before long, my eyes did indeed get heavy and I forget about the lack of light. My body started to sink deeper into my mattress. Before I finished my recalling, I fell asleep; Wesley by my side as my own guardian demon.


	5. We All Have Our Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is semi-graphic mention of sexual assault, please read with caution.
> 
> LISTEN TO Ólafur Arnalds - þú ert jörðin WHILE READING THIS CHAPTER.

I've heard it before that ladies can't keep secrets, but in my experience, we are the best at doing just that. We are the fairer gender that is degraded, becoming an insult, but that only means that we are wounded soldiers incognito. We play our cards near chests, holding the most important ones the closest. All we have to do is put on a pretty face and no one notices.

 

 

_My legs felt like cement, but I managed to bring myself from work to my building's elevator within an hour. Another long day passed by at a job I detested, with a supervisor watching my every curve and bounce rather than my work. Every day I told myself that I would leave that stupid office, stop behind being just another office rat and do something I loved - and today had been no different. The sun was blazing in the middle of summer on my walk home, and while I loved it, I was sticky with sweat as I waited for the slow lift, which was not entirely pleasant._

_It seemed -the wait- to go on forever until finally the jittery elevator stalled at the lobby for me. The doors slid open and I wobbled into the ill lit lift. As I watched the floors tick by, it came to a stop six floors below my own, I moved aside for the man who entered; he was a lot older than myself, most likely in his fifties, but he wasn't that bad looking, but nothing I really wanted to be stuck with in a small space. He grinned at me and I offered a tired one in return. Two floors went by when he suddenly hit the stop button and turned to me. I asked him if something was wrong but he didn't answer me. The blood in my veins ran cold and I felt every organ in my body drop when I saw his blown pupils and heaving chest. I couldn't move, I was frozen in place and could only watch as he pounced on me. **Why can't I move?!!** His hands held mine above my head I tried to kick but I could only feel. The man's face morphed into every male I knew; my father, brother, uncles, cousins, my supervisor, co-workers. They were all grabbing my long dark hair, shoving their tongues down my throat, choking me, lifting up my skirt, undoing their belts and- _

 

I sprung up, panic-stricken. My breath came fast and shallow. I clutched my bedding and scrambled back against the headboard panting, "No, no, no, no..."

I started to shake and I could feel my heart beating in my head, my fingertips and my toes. I looked around, but there was no one there to hurt me. I could hear the comfort of the vehicles on the roads, the buzz of pedestrians and the occasional breeze billowing my curtains; the city was awake, and I could feel the heat of the sun I so disliked on my arm.

_Another day..._

Soapsuds ran down my back as I absentmindedly washed yesterday’s grime off. Not that there was a great deal left after the rain washed the majority away. With nothing but the shower's spray sounding around me, I found my mind focusing on one something in particular; one moment that would not leave my mind since the previous night. When I was shaking, forgetting that I was not, in fact, alone in the dark I failed to see how there was a ghost who did not know how to comfort me. When I went to stand to find a haven, a flash of white light lit up the side of a face, his face. I thought of how he looked down at my terrified self. At first his features were stoney and blank, then the longer I stared at him wide eyed, I saw something change. It was care, afraid, gentle and hateful. It was a mere flicker that I could not get out of my mind. Of course it may have been a trick of the light and my fear, but even as I closed my eyes, I saw it. The more I thought about it, the more confused I became. I let a small smile grace my lips when I remembered the small gestures he had made in my favour; perhaps in his own way, he was caring for me-

"If you stay in there any longer, you may have the wrinkliest feet I have ever seen."

My eyes blew wide and I all but froze in place. “Wesley?" I peered around the corner of the shower curtain, he was leading against the counter with his hands in his pockets, "Why are you in the bathroom…while I’M _IN IT_?” I shut the water off and blindly grabbed my towel from the floor and yanked the curtain back to see him looking away respectively and sitting on the closed toilet. I held my towel around my chest as though it were my lifeline. To be completely honest, it was highly concerning and intimating having him sit right there. I awkwardly held my towel and put my clothes on under it; at times such as these, I wished that I had an extra arm or two. My leg wobbled as I tried to get the other through it's hole in my shorts, eliciting an amused expression from Wesley; my hand itched to mess up his perfect hair, just to see that smirk fall.

"Did you have an unpleasant dream last night?"

 _Oh no_. I stopped with my mascara and stared at myself. _I’m so stupid; he must have heard me. Should I tell him? No, that would lead to more questions and then more answers._ Every possible outcome crossed my mind and my grip on my makeup tightened. My eyes flickered back and forth while I thought quickly, but I kept my expression light. I let out a small laugh.

"Don't be silly, I had you by my side; it would be impossible to have a bad dream." I brushed off his question with a smile. _Please leave it alone._

"I'm honest in my want to know, Connor. You were erratic."

I sighed. "I don't remember what I might have dreamed about, but I suppose it mustn't have been good." I murmured, becoming overly occupied in fixing my hair as it stood on end. Apparently Wesley was not done conversing with me (as he saw it)-though it was more akin to questioning.

"How is it that you can devote your entire life to a café?”

I heaved another sigh, "Why does it matter where I work?"

"You're not just another imbecile wandering the streets of this city with no future. So, why the café?" Wesley asked me.

"Why do you want to know?"

While I had a sunny disposition, I could only handle so much of a sinful ghost, demon...man. I awkwardly attempted to get dressed under my towel. "I just told you why I want to know." He murmured, almost sounding like a tired parent speaking to their child. I turned around, confused for a moment before realizing that he had indeed told me.

"Oh...um, well I just- I did want to go to school, get a degree or a masters in something. I had plans...but I sort of had...problems. W-well, that is, something happened. And I just didn't handle it well. Let's just say that we all have our demons, Mr. Wesley." I turned to him and sighed. He looked curious, though his brows were turned up ever so slightly. I hoped against hope that he did not feel sorry for me, "But that is all in the past." I grinned, then turned back to him, hands on hips, "Now, if you wouldn't mind letting me get ready? Alone?"

Overall, Monday was relatively uneventful.

* * *

 

"Mr. Wesley?" I had just got home to find the demon in question with his head in his hands. He looked defeated. What had him in this state?

"Hmm?" Came his rumbling reply. I almost giggled at his slumped position; he looked so human. When he did not raise his head, I shrugged off my purse and cardigan before plopping down beside him. I half wanted to ask him what was bothering him at this moment and half wanted to just hug him, but I knew neither were options. Wesley was a man of security and barely told me what went on in his head, and I would only end up grasping air. Something struck me, an idea.

"I want to take you out." I turned to Wesley.

His head snapped to mine; apparently I caught him off guard as much as myself. "I bed your pardon?" He inquired after a beat of silence.

With Wesley's scrutinizing gaze on me, I began to fidget, "Well...you don't exactly look like the most happy of men I've met, so I want to change that. Next weekend, I am going to show you sunshine." I smiled.

Wesley stared at me as though I were a lunatic, "You know nothing about me, do you?"

I sighed, "You mean the body that is now either cremated or buried? No I don't. Well, I knew that you had done terrible things.” He seemed surprised at that, but I elaborated, “Like I said, we all have our demons… but I think sometimes we become them. Perhaps you had one too many demons, Wesley.” He stayed quiet. “I believe that your employer trusted you with their life, and you in turn would do anything for them. I think you were loyal, terrifying, and well mannered…and you needed coffee." I smiled.It was all just speculation and deduction on my part, so I had no idea if any of it was right. I did know that Wesley was a man of manners and respect, his entire demeanour cried it, even now. I think it was safe to say that I adored him in the most professional and innocent of ways. I liked to think that he actually took pleasure in caring for others, be it a dangerous businessman or a scared coffee girl in the dark.

"Yes."

His response broke a silence that had settled over us. I was confused, and was about to ask what he was saying yes to but he began to speak again, steady and calm, "You asked me when I first came here, whether or not I was at the fundraiser," He had my full attention, but whether it was anticipation or distress I felt, I could not tell. "I was, yes; in fact, I was there for my employer. I apologize -old habits- there is no need for that now, you have probably heard it everywhere. I was there for Mr. Wilson Fisk." I stopped making myself a cup of tea. _Fisk?_ "Was I poisoned? No. I do not indulge in drinking liquor, especially in such situations where there are far more important circumstances at hand. No I went down helping a...a friend. "

It was my turn to be quiet for a moment. _What do I say to that?_ I closed my eyes, picturing every assumption I had ever made about Mr. J. Wesley and decided on the lightest.

"I'm sorry..."

This clearly surprised Wesley. His left eyebrow shot up and he squinted at me, "What on earth for?" He asked me.

"I teased you and made you coffee like you were an ordinary businessman...I feel kind of ridiculous now knowing that you were Mr. Fisk's right hand man..." I mumbled and looked away. Silence settled over us. I found myself fidgeting again and rather than standing there like the silly girl I was, I went about making some dinner. My fried rice was half done when Wesley responded.

"Do you still wish to take me out, then? Seeing as my past employment irked you, that is."

I blushed at his statement seeing as I had just managed to get my humility of asking him out of my head. Here I was asking one of the most powerful man's assistant to go out on a Sunday with me. But he wasn't that anymore _...yes now he was a ghost from hell who could walk in on me changing at any time and could charm his way into a nun's panties. Yes, this is such better choice, Connor._

"Yes, I believe I do."

* * *

 

As odd as it was, that week passed beyond quickly. There was something in the background that had definitely changed and it wasn't just the demonic ghost in my flat. I found that instead of going through my day having a schedule to go by, I simply let myself take my time. It also seemed that each day, I caught myself looking forward to going home. How whenever a customer told me to have a good day, that already knew I would. Andrew had told me how he was now a bit short on money, apparently there used to be a fifty-dollar bill in his hat every day for the past year. It now only meant that I had to bake a few extra croissants and the occasional soup or sandwich for the man.

When Saturday finally rolled around, I found that my entire routine had been altered. My entire safety net and comfortable haven was different. Getting out of bed was easier, and took the time to stretch in the morning. Now, I had regular conversations in my bathroom with myself -technically I was speaking with Mr. J. Wesley…but my neighbours seemed to think something different. While I didn't pay them any mind, the amount of stares I got after a particularly heated argument was astounding. I also left my towel closer to the shower so I might grab it without having to stop our conversations. My bedroom door always found its way to be open at night, whether I did it subconsciously or not, I didn't know, but it seemed to feel safer. In the morning, when I would be running around getting ready, I didn’t have to worry so much about having something to eat; a mysterious cup of oatmeal, a piece of toast, or a fruit salad would be waiting on the counter with an innocent looking Wesley staring out the window. However small changes and additions they may be, they amounted to a different day completely.

That particular evening -Saturday- when I returned, I found myself seeing something I don't believe I was supposed to see. As per usual, I went to call out a greeting to see if the sarcastic demon was haunting, but I stopped myself when I saw the being in question staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. At first I questioned why he was looking in the mirror at all, seeing as his reflection did not exist. Then something hit me, and I mean that almost literally; what I thought of at that moment hurt. I almost gasped in fact.

This was the realization that perhaps this stone cold man was more human than I or anyone could have guessed. I had realized he still hasn't come to terms with his death. He may have, perhaps on the outside, but on the inside not at all. Whatever he lived for was was no longer meant for his care, it would carry on without him. I began questioning why he was still in the land of the living, and I think he was too. The more I thought about it, I found that his entire death was a grey area for us, he tended to avoid it. I still didn't know how he had died or why his crisp white shirt was unbuttoned and his eyes were busy inspecting his chest. I couldn't see what it was he was running his fingers over, but there was something there that mattered. A wound? Tattoo? A brand? 

While I desperately wanted to know, this was not the time or place to address the matter. I slowly backed up and opened and closed the door a bit louder to alert him of my being home.

"Invisible man? Are you haunting?" I called out, taking slower than I should have in slipping my shoes off. I _felt_ more than _heard_ him vanish, then appear moments later, leaning against the post fixing his cuffs. While he didn’t respond or look startled, I think he was secretly hoping I hadn’t seen. The longer I stared at him the more I found I had missed him. I missed him when he wasn’t there when I got home. I missed the microscopic touches we would have when I handed him his coffee. I found I wanted to touch him, if even to squeeze his arm, or to touch hands. Something to establish contact.

“Mr. Wesley?” I asked cautiously.

“Yes?” He replied calmly.

 _Am I seriously going to ask him this?_ It was such an adolescent thing to ask of a fully-grown, hellish ghost. The more I thought about it, the less I wanted to ask him. But I did anyways.

“Have you ever been out for ice cream?” I spoke to the floor, much like he was. Wesley adjusted his glasses before answering me; I already knew that answer thanks to the gesture.

“No.”

“I would like to change that tomorrow.” I smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the love and support!!! What do you all think of Conner? Tell me anything! :


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